When there's a smile in your heart
by Madam Mimm
Summary: Lydia considers her status as an adult, and her relationship with BJ. One shot, very mushy. Cartoonverse, years later


Lydia woke with a start, feeling something creep across her face. She brushed at her cheek, and found the source to be a hand, with long red finger tips, groping through the darkness. She rolled over, gripping the hand and watching as the other figure in the bed cast around, his face crumpled in fear, eyes struggling to open; the product of an active mind battling an inactive body.

"Shh..." She held his hand tightly, pressing it against her face and caressing his cheek. "Nothing's changed, nothing's changed..." As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw him slowly begin to smile, his striped, pointed tongue darting over his lips. In the dim light that came through the improperly drawn curtains, his bleached skin looked oddly blue, and his dry hair seemed almost... ethereal. He fell still, and she counted to five before gently easing herself out of bed.

"_Ethereal."_ She thought, quietly taking a red bound journal from her dresser. She would write that one down. A tall, oval mirror stood on the dresser, causing her to double-take as she saw herself in the blue light. Her hair was longer now, much longer, and as she wore it loose, it hung down to her waist. It curled and folded, still as black as ever, and glossy, in a style that he would often call bewitching. Her cheeks were a little more rounded... everything was a little more rounded, really. She was still a scrawny little thing, but not through any diet or regime. She had what she deemed the right amount of lines and curves and he tended to agree. He, her lover. Her ghost. Beetlejuice. Wiping from her cheek a smudge of black eyeliner that the washcloth had missed, she left the room with her journal. Walking through to the main living room/kitchen/diner of her apartment, she made a beeline for the tap and poured herself a glass of water.

She had left her parents' house at age twenty, taking most of her possessions with her, including the oval mirror. No hard feelings, no family secrets. She'd grown up, she'd moved out, as countless other children do when they aren't children any more. She had the feeling she was denying her inner child the drama it craved, but then she'd made up for that in other areas of her life. Sitting in front of the window, looking out over the sleeping town, she let her thoughts return to the ghost in the bed. She was glad his nightmares weren't frequent occurrences, because it tormented her to see him looking so afraid, and to be so clueless as to how to help him. The first time she had seen him have a nightmare, she had ended up crying herself, which had woken him, and left them both confused and upset. She knew better now, though. She flicked absently through the journal, looking over her past doodles, notes and thoughts. In one or two sections of the book, she had found herself quoting Peter Pan (the play, not the Disney movie, although there were some lyrics to "you can fly" scribbled around the outside). Yes, as a twelve year old, she had been much more interested in the gothic poets such as Poe, but since going to see a performance of the play at age sixteen, she'd found Peter Pan a very interesting story, which had gained more relevance the older she got. She now knew the play, two film adaptations, and Spielberg's "Hook" almost word for word.

She flipped forward to the appropriate page, noting the date. The twenty-third. It would be their anniversary in a little over a week. They celebrated two anniversaries now; the day they met, and the day Lydia moved in to her new apartment, which also happened to be the day they officially started a romantic relationship. It always tickled her slightly that the latter came three months before the former, but then there had been a period of about eight years in between the actual events. She sipped her glass of water, noting down the sleeping Beetlejuice and his "ethereal" appearance, and let her thoughts wander. It was so still and quiet that she couldn't do anything but think. Too late for the students, too early for the commuters, this was the pre-morning period when all the world was asleep, it seemed. When the day had yet to be.

She sighed. Time was all so relevant, and there was nothing that could make the point more clear than being in a relationship with a ghost. She loved him, she truly did, and she knew that he would do anything for her... but there were some things that could never happen. She was in her mid twenties now, and she could feel her biological clock ticking. She wasn't broody, she wouldn't let herself be broody, and she would hurt anyone who said otherwise. Because she couldn't afford to be broody. How do you have kids with a ghost for a lover? And who would let a single twenty-something adopt? No, she shouldn't let herself be preoccupied with such fruitless thoughts.

At the other end of the worry spectrum, though, sat the obstinate monolith that growled at her every time she dared to feel young and happy. This wouldn't last forever. Beej had been her best friend, and they had made the choice together to consummate their relationship, when Lydia felt ready. That was when she was twenty. Now she was the other side of twenty, approaching thirty, and it made her realise that she wouldn't be young forever. Dear god, she wanted to be with him for as long as possible. She wanted to keep hold of him, of this, of them, forever. But what could she do? If she killed herself, she'd be assigned to an eternity of paperwork handling; if she died old, then she'd be old forever... he wasn't shallow, she knew that. He'd seen her in all states and all moods, and had never once found her less than gorgeous, or so he said. So he said, indeed. But would he be so quick to tell her she was beautiful when she was in need of dentures and a hip replacement? She shuddered. It wasn't like he was growing up any time soon. He may have toned down some of his outlandish behaviour over the years, which was at least in part to do with her playing as his conscience for a large chunk of her childhood. He may be slightly more tame, slightly less evil, and monogamous if nothing else, but...

"_I can't fly with you to Neverland any more, Peter"_ A past her had scrawled on the page. _"I've forgotten how_". This had been joined with _"I ran away the day I was born, because I heard my parents talking about what I was to be when I became a man! But I want to always be a little boy and have fun"_ and, underneath that, _"Girls, you know, are much too clever to fall from their prams"_.

Her eyebrows rose as she read the snippets of text. That sounded about right, although somewhat understating his potential. Beetlejuice was not so much the boy who wouldn't grow up as the man who acted like he hadn't. He was mostly the same as he'd been when she met him. Slightly more educated, slightly more civil, but exactly the same. She was his lover now. But what would happen in ten, fifteen, twenty years time? Would he stop seeing her as a lover, and start seeing her as a mother? A grandmother? She shuddered again, nearly dropping her glass of water. This time, though, the shudder didn't stop. She bit her lip, her sobs scratching out of her throat, tears forming, fat and warm, on her cheeks. The door creaked open.

"Lyds?"

"Hi." She whispered, waving meekly. She dabbed her tears away as he approached, but they were instantly replaced with new ones. He approached cautiously, as if unsure whether he was still dreaming or not. His dry feet scratched along the carpet, his hands were hesitantly outstretched, and his eyes were wide and soft.

"What's up, babes? Why are you...?"

"I'm fine." She sniffed, attempting to laugh it off, but ending up blubbering more.

"Hey, whoah, babes..." His long fingers stroked her soft, pale cheek, sending an intoxicating chill down her spine. He lifted her gently into the air, setting aside her journal and her glass, floating against gravity and hugging her tightly, a few feet above the floor. She curled around him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. He watched her carefully, worry lacing his goofy features. "Tell me about it."  
"Beej..." She whispered, her big dark eyes gazing up at him from under heavy lids, sparkling with tears. "Is this really going to work?"

He was silent. She continued to sniff, fiddling with one of the top buttons of his magenta pyjama top, occasionally stealing furtive glances at him.

"I'm going to grow old. I'm going to die. We can't stay together forever. And what if... what if I get really old before I die, and then I'm in the neitherworld for eternity as an old woman?"

Beetlejuice pursed his lips, slightly, before breaking into a knowing smile, scratching the back of his head.

"Is that what's been keeping you up? Worrying about how old you're gonna get?" He chuckled to himself, a hoarse, throaty chuckle that sounded like water boiling over on the stove. He took her hands gently, and began to lead her around the room, just below the ceiling, staring into her eyes. "Well let's start off with the facts. When you die, you don't necessarily look the way you were when you were alive. You look how you did when you were most emotional. That's what ghosts are, after all, emotions. Most people end up being how they were when they died because there's not much more emotional than realising that there's a lot of blood on the floor and most of it's yours." He brought her closer, almost swimming through the air, the pre-dawn blue light bathing everything and adding to the effect. "Lyds, I don't know when you're gonna die, and I couldn't tell you if I did. But you and me have all the time in the world. Once you hit my age, I might start aging with you, just for the heck of it."

"You can do that?" She giggled, not sure she believed it, but happy to be soothed. He could say anything to her and that voice of his would make her melt like hot butter.

"Sure, if you want me to." He ran a hand over his face and he was instantly aged and wrinkly, winking at her from between a heavy brow and sunken jowls, making her smile. "I'm the ghost with the most, after all." He returned his face to normal (or as normal as his face ever was) and pulled her closer still, wrapping his arms around her so that they were slowly corkscrewing through the air. "When we first got together... you know, in between all the rampant sessions of pure animal lust..." he wiggled his eyebrows at her. She giggled again, holding him tighter and resting her head on his chest, "We said that we were gonna have a few more issues than the regular couple. Heck, I'd be worried if we didn't; you've seen the amount of bureaucracy they have on the other side, if this was easy, they'd have to be up to something." Lydia laughed, nuzzling him more. He smiled, holding her with one arm, moving the other up behind his head. "So we have to cross a few bridges when we get to them. I mean, we can't get married on this side, not legally, but we could get married in the Neitherworld, if that's what you want. And, well, no one's gonna let me adopt, this side or that, but if we want a sprog or two runnin' around then I'm sure there's some ancient magic in a book somewhere that'll help us."

"You think about that stuff?" Beetlejuice looked down at Lydia, seemingly offended by her surprised tone.

"You don't?"

"No, I do, I just... didn't think you did." They drifted down to the couch, still lying together.

"Babes... We're a thing. You and me. Us. Marriage, kids... it's not my scene normally, but if I'm gonna do it with someone, then you're the only person I'm ever going to do it with." He looked at her with stony serious eyes, as if stating something that he was shocked to discover was not common knowledge.

"You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it! Would I lie?" She opened her mouth, but he got there first "Not to you I wouldn't. Not now you can withhold certain... treats." She thumped him on the arm, but he just placed a finger on her jaw and gently, but firmly, directed her gaze to his. "I. Love. You. And I'm prepared to do just about anything to prove it." They held each other's gaze for a moment, before she raised her head and kissed him on the nose, breaking into a smile. He kissed her back, on the lips, this time, before glancing over at the kitchen clock.

"Well, it's three in the morning and we're both up. Ideas?"

"A few." She smiled. "but let's just stay like this, for now."


End file.
